


present company excepted

by mycleverusername



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Coworkers - Freeform, M/M, Mutual Pining, trolling as a love language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:35:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27765349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mycleverusername/pseuds/mycleverusername
Summary: “David, I’ll have you know that I take gift giving very seriously.”He doesn’t doubt it. Patrick takes everything very seriously. He gives the same level of attention to his work as he does lunchtime debates about the best pizza in town. It’s hot.Or, pining coworkers go to an office holiday party.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 64
Kudos: 168
Collections: Schitt's Creek: Frozen Over (2020)





	present company excepted

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [SCFrozenOver2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SCFrozenOver2020) collection. 



> **Prompt:**  
>  David and Patrick are coworkers, and their workplace is having a Yankee swap at their holiday party. David manages to unwrap an amazing gift, only for Patrick to then steal it off him (leaving David with something very shitty), even though it's something that he'd never have thought Patrick would have wanted. There's only one thing to do: beg and/or steal it back.  
> (Obviously, this ends with them getting together.)

The _clack-clack-clack_ of fingers on keyboards echoes through the air; somewhere in the office, a phone rings. The fan inside David’s laptop whirs loudly as he attaches the final proposal for the Johnson’s kitchen countertop and tiles to an email addressed to Ronnie. He minimizes the email and immediately reopens it, just to make sure the file is still there. He sends it off across the ether with an electronic _whoosh_.

David opens Slack.

  
__Stevie  
  


David2:23 PM  
It's done   


* * *

  
He cracks his knuckles and rolls his neck as he stands, stiff from too many hours in a chair with subpar lumbar support. David grabs the mug that he keeps at his desk, always, because he doesn’t trust the other urchins in this office not to steal it from a communal cabinet. He crosses the room, weaving between desks until he reaches the small kitchenette. David presses down the lever on the urn, dispensing that sweet, sweet, nectar of life.

“2:25. Right on time,” a smooth voice comments. 

David jumps, hissing as a drop of hot coffee spills onto his hand. _“Patrick,”_ he whines.

“Sorry,” Patrick says, but he doesn’t sound sorry at all.

He turns to face the offender. “What do you mean, right on time?”

“Well,” Patrick starts, “Everyday, right around now, you come for your afternoon coffee. You doctor it with an absurd amount of caramel syrup and cocoa powder, which you keep hidden behind the paper plates on the top shelf. Then, if she’s not on the phone, you go bother Stevie at the front desk.”

“So,” David squints. “You’re stalking me?”

“Yes, I keep a spreadsheet of your movements.”

He does have a spreadsheet open on his computer nearly every time David comes over here. Who’s to say it _isn’t_ a David spreadsheet?

“I’m kidding, by the way,” Patrick leans back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head, elbows wide. “Just things I notice about all my coworkers from my desk that is conveniently located beside the coffee machine.”

David hums, not sure what answer he had been looking for. Yes, he’s had a crush on this gorgeous, intelligent, witty man for months now, but he’s never thought those feelings were reciprocated. Plus, David is entirely certain that Patrick is straight – no, mostly certain. Anyway, whatever his preferences, if Patrick has spent that much time observing him he’s certainly seen enough to kill any chance of attraction. Still, the implication that _no, you’re not special_ pinches a little, like a flu shot.

He fetches his cocoa and caramel from what he had thought was a secure hiding spot and fixes his coffee to his liking. As he reaches to return them, he glances back at Patrick, who is watching him with a bemused grin on his face.

“Don’t worry,” Patrick assures him. “I won’t tell anyone.” He mimes zipping his lips. 

Patrick is constantly joking, but he’s also, somehow, painfully sincere. And it’s so confusing. Because people have been kidding around with David his whole life, but he was always, in the end, the joke. Patrick acts like they’re in on the joke together. 

It’s addicting, really – the glowy warmth he feels when Patrick smiles and laughs, not at him, but with him. David spends his days coming up with excuses to be near him, chasing that high. Lunch. Snacks. And many, many beverages. When Patrick first started at the Lee Group six months ago, David trembled through two manic, five-cup-of-coffee days. Ultimately, he learned to switch to water after one cup of coffee in the morning and one in the afternoon. David’s never been so hydrated, so consistently in his entire life.

“So,” Patrick says, bringing David back down to Earth, “are you excited about the holiday party tonight?”

“Am I excited to go home, change my clothes, and immediately come back here to talk to the same twelve people I already see every day?” David hates mandatory fun.

Patrick frowns. Of course he’s looking forward to the party, he’s a _participator_. David bets he played four sports in high school, did theatre, was the class president, and volunteered with old people on the weekends.

“I am looking forward to the free alcohol,” David adds, and since when does he care about hurting people's feelings? “And also, receiving a present.”

“Oh yeah, the Yankee Swap. It sounds a little complicated, but should be fun. Got your gift all ready?”

“Of course I do, the party is tonight.”

“Of course,” Patrick repeats. “I mean, I did ask your sister the same question earlier, and I got the impression she didn’t have one. Even though she’s running the event and has sent all the rules and reminder emails.”

“Somehow, that does not surprise me in the least,” David smirks. The Rose siblings share both a workplace and an aversion to large group games.

Patrick holds his gaze for a long moment, a smile on each of their faces.

“Brewer!” 

The man in question’s eyes widen in terror.

“Is my accountant planning on attending his 2:30 budget meeting, or do I need to find a new accountant?”

“Coming, Ronnie!” He springs up out of his chair, frantically gathering papers and his laptop. “See you tonight, David.”

David can always count on Patrick to brighten his day. In fact, watching Patrick run across the office in super tight jeans may just be the most fun he’s ever had at work.

* * *

That evening, a mere two hours after leaving work, David arrives back to find the Lee Group’s office transformed. He deposits his gift on a table piled with presents and adorned with a menorah and a mini Christmas tree. The walls are draped in tinsel and battery-powered candles fill the room with a synthetic glow. Bowls full of chips and pretzels and popcorn are scattered throughout. Several desks overflow with bottles of booze, cups, and napkins. 

David shrugs off his coat and drapes it over what he thinks is his chair – all the furniture had been shoved aside to make space for gathering. _Note to self,_ he thinks, _leave early, before anyone asks me to clean._

“You made it!” 

Maybe one day he won’t jump out of his skin when Patrick sneaks up on him. He turns. “I told you I would.”

Patrick leans up against the nearest desk, a beer in one hand and a glass of red wine in the other. “For you.”

David accepts the wine graciously and takes a deep sip.

“I’m surprised, is all,” Patrick continues. “Because you’ve changed your clothes, but you weren’t home for long enough to pick an outfit, from what you’ve told me about your process.”

He picked this outfit days ago, actually, but Patrick doesn’t need the confirmation.

“David!” Alexis appears, shaking a Lee Group baseball hat in his face. “Pick a number!”

“Why?” he responds.

“For the gift exchange, David, duh.”

“Right,” he answers. He picks a tiny slip of paper out of the hat and unfolds it. “Thirteen. Out of how many?”

“Thirteen,” she and Patrick say simultaneously.

“Unacceptable, I refuse to be last. Patrick, what are you? Switch with me!”

Patrick opens his mouth to say something, but Alexis beats him to it. “No, no, nope! No switchies!” She boops David’s nose emphatically, twice, and flounces off to make Ray, who handles the firm’s real estate, photography, government relations, mousepad, and photoshop needs, her next victim.

“What number did you get?” David prods Patrick again.

“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you,” he murmurs, and it shouldn’t be sexy but somehow it is.

“Mmkay, Tom Cruise, this is an office gift exchange, not a classified government operation.”

“David, I’ll have you know that I take gift giving very seriously.”

He doesn’t doubt it. Patrick takes everything very seriously. He gives the same level of attention to his work as he does lunchtime debates about the best pizza in town. It’s hot.

“Okay! Everyone! Attention please,” Alexis shouts, hands shaped in a megaphone around her mouth.

“There’s no need to yell, this is a small room,” David berates her.

“Everyone, gather round,” she ignores him. Everyone is already gathered round. “Okay! Welcome to the Lee Group’s first annual Yankee Swap!”

Alexis leads the group in a tepid round of applause.

“I’m going to assume you all read the rules and just get started! So, who has number one?”

Patrick, of course, the overachiever, raises his hand.

“Great, come forward and pick a present!”

David watches as Patrick’s incredible ass ( _ugh, stop staring David, it’s rude_ ) approaches the table. He surveys his options much more briefly than David would if he had the privilege of going first. David would have sorted through every single thing on that table, shaken the bags, weighed the boxes in his hands, reveled in the possibility. Patrick, on the other hand, reaches in and seemingly at random chooses a small, nondescript gift bag. So odd, when there are far flashier presents, done up in festive wrapping paper and bows. Whatever. David assumes that, like always, Patrick has some sort of strategy in mind.

He reaches into the bag and pulls out a handful of lip balms. “Huh,” Patrick remarks. “Um, thanks, whoever you are.”

David tries to hold in a laugh and it comes out as an odd, mangled cough instead. He would bet money, based on the gift itself and the complete lack of effort made in wrapping it, that Patrick had drawn Alexis’ contribution. And that all the lip balms were… pre-owned.

Alexis shoots him a dirty look as he recovers from his coughing fit. “Okay!” she says, a bit too aggressively. “Who’s next?”

Ronnie steps up to the gift table. She rifles through the boxes and the bags before unwrapping, David observes proudly, his contribution: a bottle of body milk from his favorite vendor at the farmers’ market, who makes artisanal bath products with all-natural ingredients. She looks pleased, and declines to swap for Patrick’s lip balms.

The game devolves from there. The Lee Group employees unwrap and exchange gifts that include: several bottles of wine, a kitschy mug that reads “World’s Best Coworker,” a $20 gift card to the lunch place downstairs, and an agenda book emblazoned with “you got this!” on the cover. Emotions run high as everyone angles to improve their lot or maintain their holdings. Alexis looks ready to commit homicide when Stevie steals a bottle of wine from her and sticks her with the mug. Thankfully, Ray wants the mug and swaps her for the gift card. She pouts, but David knows it’s an act – she loves their smoothies. 

As they laugh and _ooh_ and _aah_ and heckle each other and beg for mercy, David watches Patrick from across the room. His eyes twinkle as he chuckles at the proceedings. He catches David staring and holds his gaze as he wraps his lips around the neck of his beer bottle and swallows it down. David’s breath catches in his throat. Everything Patrick does is deliberate, intentional. What is he playing at now?

“Last up, number thirteen!” Alexis instructs, and that’s David’s cue.

David, finally, approaches the table. The remaining gift is a small envelope, unremarkable, left until last in favor of bigger, more enticing packages. David opens it and shakes the contents into his palm, expecting to find a $5 or $10 gift card to Starbucks, and knowing he’s going to steal that nice bottle of red from Ronnie. But instead of hard plastic, out fall two thin pieces of cardstock – tickets. He reads them and gasps aloud. 

“Wow,” he breathes, no longer bitter to have drawn the last pick. These were meant to be his. “Two tickets to drag brunch this weekend,” he tells the group, and murmurs of appreciation ripple through the circle. Not just any drag brunch – an all-you-can-eat extravaganza that David has tried and failed to make reservations for thrice since he moved to the city. Now, somehow, one of his colleagues has dropped the opportunity into his lap.

“Wowie!” Alexis echoes. “Okay, we are almost done, everyone. Patrick, you picked first, so you swap last. Is there anything you’d like to steal?”

Patrick nods. David’s not surprised, since he’s still stuck with the bag of lip balms he originally opened. Thankfully, out of all the gifts in the running, David is sure that drag brunch is the last thing Patrick would ever switch for.

“David,” Patrick says. “I’d like to switch for the drag brunch.”

Well.

“Um,” David pauses. Can he say no? He thinks that’s against the rules. Ugh, typical Patrick, making David’s life difficult. He probably doesn’t even want to go. He’ll probably give the tickets away, is probably just making some elaborate joke. David blinks rapidly, suddenly, inexplicably teary. “Fine.”

He’s still standing in front of the gift table, twelve pairs of eyes on him. He crosses to Patrick and shoves the tickets at his chest. Without meeting his eyes, he accepts the small gift bag in exchange, letting it dangle from one finger.

“According to the rules,” Alexis taps her clipboard twice with her pen. “David can swap this gift with anyone in the circle, except Patrick, of course. That will be the final swap of the game.”

David peeks into the bag, confirming with a roll of his eyes that all the lip balms have broken safety seals. Everyone looks at him, wide-eyed, praying he won’t steal their treasure, not when they’ve come so far. “Unfortunately, I cannot in good conscience give anyone else your germs, Alexis. But you owe me a real present!”

“Ew, David! I flattened them all out, don’t be rude!”

* * *

David stands by the drink table and sulks, alone. He taps his foot and sips at his glass of mediocre champagne. Stevie is off flirting with Jake, one of the firm’s carpenters. Alexis has Ray cornered, and by the look of deep concern on his face is likely describing some hostage situation or another. David might feel bad for the guy if he didn’t have to use a mousepad with Ray’s face and a volcano on it everyday.

He couldn’t care less where Patrick is, because he is furious, _furious_ at him. David doesn’t want to see him, doesn’t want to talk to him, and certainly doesn’t want to be here anymore. How long until it’s socially acceptable to go home, so he can throw darts at Patrick’s photo and dream about Patrick’s butt and Patrick’s mouth in peace?

“Having a good time?”

David jumps, having somehow summoned him. “Jesus, Patrick, warn a guy.”

He has the decency to smile sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“Yes, you should be,” David spits.

“What? Is this – is this about the tickets?”

“Of course it is, what else would I be talking about?”

“Oh,” Patrick says sadly, pouting at the floor. “Sorry.”

David cringes. This is so far gone from their usual, teasing rapport, he just doesn’t know what to make of it. Patrick stole the tickets just to mess with him, right? Then why does he seem so genuinely remorseful? He drains his drink and puts the empty glass down on the table, stalling. He knows he needs to say something, but if he tells the truth, he could ruin this entire thing they’ve been building. A friendship, he might even call it. David doesn’t have enough friends to lose one over a stupid Yankee Swap, or an even stupider unrequited crush.

He attempts aloofness. “I didn’t think you were the type to go to drag brunch.”

Patrick raises a barely-existent eyebrow, expecting an explanation.

“You’re – you’re just –” David sputters. “An accountant,” he finishes, halfheartedly.

“Oh, and accountants can’t enjoy a lovely meal and some high quality entertainment?”

“It just doesn’t seem like your scene,” David defends. This is much more comfortable territory. “You’ll be the only person there wearing a braided belt.”

“Well David, you know, it is a pair of tickets,” Patrick says, an odd twinge in his voice. “I would love for you to come with me, help me get the lay of the land.”

David shakes his head. “Don’t pity me. Take your girlfriend, or whoever you want.”

“My girlfriend? David,” he sighs. “I’m trying to ask you on a date.”

“You _what_?”

“David, I’ve been flirting with you for months.”

“You _have_?”

“ _David_ ,” he groans. “I literally – I planned this. I bought the tickets, they were my contribution tonight. And then I told your sister what I was doing, and we fixed it so I got the first pick, the last swap. I would steal the tickets from whoever had them, then ask you to go with me.”

“Oh my god,” David sighs. “I was, like, genuinely distraught when you stole them from me. I cannot believe – are we eight years old? You think if you pull on my pigtails on the playground, I’ll get the hint that you like me?”

“You would look _adorable_ with pigtails,” Patrick deadpans. “But really, I’m sorry. I should’ve just asked you out, not made it into some convoluted game.”

“And why didn’t you?”

“I just…” he starts. “You’ve talked to me about rom coms enough times, I wanted to make it, like, a moment. A big, romantic gesture.”

“A moment,” David repeats. His heart flutters, still not quite believing that the handsome, decent man he’s been crushing on for months wants him back. Is not straight. Wants him enough to woo him, to try and sweep him off his feet with an orchestrated, public display of affection.

Patrick’s gaze is soft. “Now that we’re on the same page? Let me start over: David, I have two tickets to drag brunch this weekend. Would you like to go with me? As a date.”

“Hmmm,” David purses his lips in pretend contemplation. “I am quite interested in this event.”

Patrick smiles in relief. “I thought you would be. You and Stevie are always talking about Drag Race and about brunch, so I figured I couldn’t go wrong with the combo.”

“Very astute,” David agrees, corners of his mouth twitching. “Then yes. I will come with you. On a date.”

Patrick looks up, and around, and then back to David. He frowns.

“What? Are you – did you change your mind?”

He shakes his head, giving him the same smile he always does. David always thought the smile meant _you’re an idiot_. Maybe it really means _I like you_. Maybe both.

“This just feels like one of those perfect moments that you dream about. Except in my dream, I look up, and there’s mistletoe.”

“Mistletoe is actually a parasite? And it’s pretty creepy and creates dangerous situations with questionable consent,” David tells him. Patrick’s face falls further. “I mean. We don’t need mistletoe to kiss. You can kiss me, if you want.”

A wide grin splits Patrick’s face from ear to ear. “I want,” he murmurs, and steps in closer, and closer, and closer still, until his hands grasp David’s forearms, thumbs stroking over the soft cashmere of his sweater.

His gaze flickers down to David’s lips, then up to his eyes, then back to his lips. David feels impatient; he doesn’t want to wait anymore. So he closes his eyes and kisses Patrick, this arrogant accountant, this kind man who studied what he liked and rigged an entire holiday gift exchange and somehow got his sister to keep a secret for once in her life, all just to ask David out. He kisses as generously as he gifts, and David knows those tickets were not cheap. 

A loud _pop_ startles them apart. Stevie stands next to them, champagne spilling out onto her hand from the newly-opened bottle in her fist.

She raises it. “To you two idiots finally getting your act together.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Patrick chimes, still holding tight to David, who lunges for the alcohol.

“Get yourself another bottle, this one’s mine,” Stevie says, dodging him, and she takes a long swig from it.

“You popped that bottle to celebrate us, but we can’t drink it?” David protests.

“To be fair, I was going to get another drink anyway, but the opportunity arose to make a public spectacle of you and I took it.”

And indeed, the whole office had stopped what they were doing to stare at them. 

“Yay, David!” Alexis cheers. She mimes a boop at each of them from across the room.

“Eh, David could do better,” Ronnie responds.

Patrick scoffs. “Hey!”

David squeezes his arm.

“I am quite happy for you both,” Ray says. “A toast!”

David had applied to work at the Lee Group because he needed a job, any job. Somehow, it’s brought him a best friend, a renewed relationship with his sister, and a steady, reliable mentor in Ronnie. And Patrick. Patrick grasps his waist and grins at him, that smile even more devastating from up close. It’s the end of a year, but the start of something so much better.

Patrick kisses him again, smiling into it as their audience cheers. He pulls back, eyes narrowed in concentration. “Which flavor is this? Cherry or strawberry?”

David refuses to dignify that with a response. Luckily, he has a brand new way to shut Patrick up, and he plans to use it, repeatedly, until they both forget the question.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to swat117 for the beta and the title help and ~anonymous~ (update: therapychicken!) for the fun prompt!
> 
> This type of gift exchange goes by many names and has infinite possible rules and variations. [Here’s](https://www.whiteelephantrules.com/) a good summary. 
> 
> Slack skin adapted from [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12142470) Discord skin by Heterochromia_Mars.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
